The Storm in Their Eyes
by skiesofice
Summary: Crossover time! Pairing Stan and Kyle, but of course no South Park story ends without Kenny dying, so just be prepared for that.


He didn't like to close his eyes.

Kyle Broflovski would miss things, crucial facts that would help him out of this shithole in the wake of. It wasn't that he was claustrophobic, but when his eyelids fell, he knew what it felt like to be paralyzed, too feeble escape.

He emitted to his other senses. He would strain his ears to hear anything and everything he possibly could. His fingers would tremble and his body convulse if he was not to see color, desperately seeking something that could be there or not.

He'd lost Cartman in the darkness, but was still constrained to hear his pleas and cries for help.

He was one of the scattered people who could use air as his powers, but those monsters, those _animals_ had killed him just the same. Kyle of course never did care all that much for the kid, and without doubt he didn't miss all the badgering that you got with him, but still, nobody should've had to die the way he did.

The thought caused his mind to ramble back to Stan. Partly in order to derange himself from the nightmarish thoughts that pounded his brain, and partly because the boy never left his thoughts, just impaled in his numb mind.

Kyle's heart wavered, then bounded forward anew, and time lagged, not mattering to him anymore.

The four boys were all in their homes, sundered, when the first infiltration was launched, and he hadn't heard of or from him in the week of entropy that had spread. Of course Stan was the initial person Kyle had thought of, but he was losing his sane because of it.

Although he concluded to unrestraint the thought of the boy who he loved with all his heart at that moment, naming him a lost cause.

It was simple, really, going back to the dimness that was now his world. Kyle just hated the darkness.

So he didn't know why he was voluntarily squeezing his eyes shut, recoiling and even cowering at the world around him.

 _Stop it_ , he told himself, his fingernails dredging into his hands. Kyle's eyes were then open, while different shades of green and terror sparked and the blacks shook in place. His gaze altered to the ebony day just in time to see flames lashing through the murky air and icicles spearing the ground, shattering and streaming across the grimy cement floor. A flash of red. Kenny was soaring up from his stooping position. He mumbled something, a threat more than likely, but muffled due to the scarlet parka hood he wore, concealing over half his face. He narrowed his eyes in a scowl.

"Kenny!" Kyle cried, darting to his friend. His viridescent eyes were broad and thriving towards the same color as his lime green ushanka, which now only lay on top of his head, barely clinging on anymore. He wrenched it down over his thick, "jewfro," russet hair mindlessly, grunting as he evaded elements threatening to cascade on him. Rocks fell from the welkin, glaring red and orange flames licked at his heels, and water spliced at him, scarcely inches away.

"I'll be right there!" he bellowed. His fists seized, and not a second later the turf beneath them ascended, and was divided into a trilogy of prodigious squares.

They were _not_ going to kill anyone else.

He hurled the rocks into the leaden shadows, rigid and hastily due to the ire that surged through his veins, although did not hear the ground fall. The distraction was enough though, and he charged over to the kid, falling beside him in battle.

"I'm hurt!" Kenny cried, deadened. He whipped around to his friend, letting his left arm hang limply, dancing colors still fleeing from his right. Kyle's stomach lurched when his eyes regulated to the dimness and could make out the lesion. The parka looked like it had been seared, blood imbruing the area around the hole that disclosed an open arm. Crimson red pooled out rhythmically, balanced, and Kyle knew every time his heart beat, it got worse, that more blood was growing irretrievable.

Kenny groaned and flinched, his knees hitting the ground, knowing he couldn't continue in battle. Kyle's legs were shaking, and he governed his muscles to cease, bending down beside him as Kenny collapsed. He absently lifted a wall of rock from the ground as a weak defense from the raging elements threatening to take their lives too early.

"Shit dude," Kyle started benignantly, holding his arm and trying very hard not to retch as he looked for anymore crucial afflictions. His limb was scorched, that was clear, but it was an actual _gash_ , as if the arm had been gouged out of. There was an indent in it, and if he looked close, Kyle could see an ivory color, white. Part of his bone. Kyle bit his lip gruelingly, so hard he tasted blood. Pain skewered through his throbbing lips, and his eyelids fell again suddenly. He snapped awake and clicked his tongue to the roof of his dry mouth, an obvious habit. But conflicted pain was better than thinking about his friend dying. He at least could control the emotions of his body now, but he couldn't with Kenny. He was sure the arm's gash wasn't exactly life threatening, but if he continued in this brawl something was sure to happen that would be. And then it would be over.

"Don't worry, I'll get help. I-I'll get Stan, he'll know what to do, who to get." Kyle fumbled over his words, stripping off his coat, binding it around Kenny and gingerly putting his arm in it, as if a sorry excuse for a sling. Kyle's eyes were broad now, finally opened to the unforgiving world. He was drawn to his friend, who murmured curses into his clothes, squeezing his eyes shut, so that the creases in his shadowed face were too many to count.

"Go. Hide. I'll be back, I promise," Kyle stammered, fixing his gaze on Kenny. The boy dipped his head in a nod, already scrambling to a corner of the premises. The kid in the green hat didn't dare take a glimpse back as thorns of controlled pain ripped through his legs. He knew Kenny was smart, he knew that he would make it until he returned. His bare feet pounded the surface faster each time they hit the ground, and his breath was rapid, lungs screaming for air, about to rupture, as if on fire. His eyes felt too dry, yet tears flew from his cheeks and fused with the smoking air that he raced through, causing his pale skin to smear with ash that swirled in the atmosphere. He gritted his teeth, knowing he could not have say in whatever was going to happen, knowing it was far beyond even the littlest control he possessed.

 _Stop_ , Kyle told himself, eyes going in and out of focus erratically. _You'll be fine, Kenny will be fine, we will all be fine_.

Meanwhile, black pushed the edges of his vision.

"Kyle!" a voice cried. Stan Marsh erupted from nearby, rundown house that was not his own, smiling crookedly. "I can't believe it's you!"

Kyle didn't even realize how close Stan had been. He raced to his friend, grasping him in his arms, tears slipping out of the corners of his eyes, leaving a clean trail down his dirt-covered cheeks. "It's me, Stan."

Stan suddenly pressed his head to Kyle's chest, as if he had to hear Kyle's heart thud against him before believing he was in front of him, alive, causing the boy to stumble backwards. Stan easily caught him, wrapping two hands around the Jew's forearms and slightly grunting as he heaved him up.

"S-sorry," Kyle said in a slow voice. Stan only nodded his head, not releasing his tight grip on Kyle's exposed skin. He pulled him in closer, so their breath fused together and their noses almost touched.

"Stan . . ."

Stan could see Kyle's lips moving, but his words were too slurred, like faint echoes and little whispers that followed. He felt muscles teeming with restraint beneath his palms coming to, and his head dropped and peered to see Kyle snapping his arms back. He glanced back up, allowing his hands to go limp, hurt buried deep within, for Kyle could tell by the way his brow furrowed, how his bottom lip stuck out in a bleeding pout and the way his back had slackened, how his frame had gotten smaller.

So he drawled closer to Stan, regarding azure eyes were beginning to change, as if clouds were rolling and sending lightning to clash, all inside Stan's head. He intertwined his pinkie to Stan's and the boy blinked up at him. His body shook and Stan veered against Kyle. His eyes were closed and Kyle wondered if Stan feared the darkness as well. He felt Stan breathing in, murmuring softly into his shoulder.

"I was all alone," he breathed. "I was _scared_."

Kyle bent his knees so that he was at Stan's level. "I know," he paused, seizing his hands lavishly and glancing away as they stood up. His gaze fell to fingers that were locked together, and he doted at the sight of it. "And I'm sorry."

Their bodies were touching, trembling skin met hastily. Stan leveled into Kyle more, and Kyle went slack, not pushing back, closing his eyes.

 _This darkness is good,_ he decided. _I like it._

 _I like Stan._

Kyle felt a longing, needy desire to get closer to Stan, so he sheathed his arms around the boy's middle and hugged him tight, allayed when Stan did the same.

"I missed you," Kyle mused into the boy's neck, blackness concealing him again.

"Kyle," Stan hinted in a hoarse, lower voice than habitual. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, that you were okay," he added promptly but without thought. Kyle could feel his friend shaking against him, so he clutched and embraced him even tighter. "It wasn't normal," he began. "I-"

Kyle noticed something had changed. His friend was still in his grasp, although he could pick up streaks of awkward movements. Stan was trying to pull away.

"Stan?" Kyle broke away and looked across to a shielded face. Stan blinked and a tear skimmed down his lashes, falling, mimicking the act of a raindrop when it licked the ground.

Green eyes met blue.

Kyle endured Stan to free form his despondent grasp.

Stan blinked, sniffling a couple of times before raising his arm, immersing his face in it, turning on one unbalanced heel to face away from Kyle. The tears did not stop, neither did the smallest moans of throe that reared in his throat.

"Stan?"

That voice had made Stan wince. It was far too tough for Kyle, it never had that rasp before, it never trembled with anger.

He threw his head back over to a boy he had never seen before.

Flaming, crimson, blood dried lips were drawing back into a snarl, while dusted white teeth were clenching and gnawing on the inside of his mouth. Quavering arms strained and fingers kinked and curled into fists while knees staggered and unbuckled before correcting out of reflex. His eyes glazed and sparked with clouds mimicking the act of lava. They were scarlet red almost, rolling and bellowing in disdain.

Stan's breath caught in a throat that was forming something to defer tears that were banefully threatening to slip from his eyes and trail down his cheeks.

Fury was burning deep within green and white fire, though his body stiffened as Stan treaded closer, so that he was brushing up against worn clothes, though muscles were quivering beneath pale skin.

Kyle gawked into Stan's broad eyes. "Stan."

Was his voice always this low, did it always thunder this deep?

"Did anyone try and hurt you?"

Stan's neck bent, so eyes weren't scorching him anymore. "No." Nobody had hurt him, he had hurt himself. He had cared too much for Kyle.

Kyle's expression lessened when the boy with blue eyes flicked his gaze back up. There was no more red that touched his cheeks, no more eyebrows knitted together, no more eyes blazing with hungry flames.

"Then what's wrong?"

Stan abstained from the impulse to slump to his knees and cry against Kyle. He wanted vigilant arms to shield him and he didn't want anyone else but the boy in front of him for shelter.

He looked up at Kyle, hands winding up to brawny shoulders, struggling not to collapse.

Blue severed and Kyle admitted that Stan was glaring, blurring tears hindering his vision. His lips parted, although only half worded moans eluded. Kyle muttered his name.

"Kyle," Stan murmured. "When you were gone, so was my sane. It was as if my other half was gone, too." He turned his head away from eyes that were wide. "I . . . I think I realized that," he let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding so fiercely. He looked up at solemn green eyes that were brimmed with tears.

"I love you, Kyle."

Their eyes locked, Kyle held an ocean in each palm, and had his asthma kicked in? Lightning pulsed through his veins, his heart caused him to wobble, he had to keep reminding himself to stand still and not give into the tinges of energy that sparked in his body.

Stan tilted his head, then paused, shaking eyes searching Kyle. He blinked, and parted his lips.

Soft skin brushed up against Kyle's arms and fingers traced up to his back. Stan pulled him in closer.

Their lips melted against each other, their eyelids fell, and their hearts could be heard for miles.

The horrid world around them vanished for a moment, and the distant sound of fire being shot turned into booming fireworks, sprinkling cold, teasing tears to roll down the boys' faces.

It wasn't a big kiss, barely lasting five seconds, but the emotions the two felt could be described for a thousand years.

Stan's lips were rough and bleeding, Kyle noticed in a faraway thought. But he knew his were the same, too. His cheeks flushed into a deeper shade of red when he realized that the firework's stinging tears were actually raindrops granted to fall from the heavens, although when a familiar hand grabbed at his shirt, Kyle forgot about the tears and rain and was back into Stan's grasp without focus spared. Their bodies were clenched tight, yet it did not hurt in the slightest, for it was as if they were flowing altogether, as if each move they made had been practiced before. Stan felt Kyle's uneven breath waft over his trembling lips, and he too, breathed in Kyle's amazing scent.

Stan opened his eyes in time to see familiar green gleaming back at him, only his head moving back with Kyle's.

"I love you, too," he mused into Stan's lips.

The two were still against each other when their mouths broke away, comfortable silence filling the space between them. But as Kyle stared at Stan, fear etched across his face.

"Kyle," Stan said rapidly. "What's wrong?"

"We won't ever leave each other again, right?"

Stan ran his hand to the back of Kyle's head, careful not to snarl any of his curled, red hair. Kyle did not protest and rested himself against Stan, veering his chin to a steadied shoulder, leaning into his neck and gulping in air.

"As long as I live I will _always_ be by your side," Stan promised.

Kyle sniffled, reddening as he began to think clearly again. Stan could sense that Kyle was embarrassed for showing so much emotion, but he didn't mind. It reminded him that they still had some humanity in them. But Kyle tried to control his feelings, recovering a clenched jaw and hard eyes, searching for problems.

Stan's eyes were ample, the color of the ocean after a great storm, squinted up though, happy despite the darkened middle shaking, trembling in place. His mouth was parted open, due to his rather puffy, chapped lips. His cheeks were touched with pink. His nose looked fine, as well as his red and blue hat, with the exception of his pompom, which was clinging to a few threads, oppositely. Raven-black hair peeked out from beneath a woven blue, though not enduring enough to touch his eyes. His ecru jacket had blurs and daubs of dirt on it, which was normal in this impasse, and there were lean slits in his blue denim jeans.

"You haven't got in a fight yet, have you?" Kyle weighed his words carefully. "At least not a _serious_ one, you know, with unknown enemies and stuff?" Kyle asked, toiling to keep his voice sounding hale and not infirmed. Something unreadable in Stan's gaze etiolated, splitting from Kyle's for a second. He shook his head.

"But I've seen them, I've heard stories about them, Kyle." Stan peered up at him. "They're fuckin' horrible, and the worst part is we don't know who the enemies are." He suspended, restricting his eyes. "Do we?"

"No," Kyle bared, fidgeting with the end of his shirt. "Not yet anyways." He let out a faltering breath, still struggling to control it rhythmically. "Stan." He almost congested his words. "I came here to tell you Kenny is hurt, and he needs help desperately and you're the only one who can heal him." The words were compelled together, all spoken in less than two seconds it resembled, so it took Stan a moment to hash what Kyle had said.

"Heal?" he asked warily, voice small. He fended off Kyle's gaze, and the boy shivering in the falling rain could tell this was all too much.

"Yes," Kyle echoed agilely. He lurched for his hand and drew him out of the house, impelling him into the open road.

It was night, and lights worked no longer. Fragmented, severed cars reposed on the streets in every position, while demurred fires could be descried everywhere.

"Ever since we got our powers I've noticed that people with water are the best at fixing and cleansing injuries," Kyle gasped as they entwined their way through the dross of the debris.

Stan eyed his friend, sieging on what was about to come.

"You've got to be a healer, Stan, and Kenny needs you to heal him as fast as you can."

Kyle lapsed on a buried fracture in the road but regarded that Stan never yielded him. The boy aided him up and stages later they were at one of the many "avenues" of the dissipated building.

"I think," he ceased. Stan gnawed on his lower lip. "I can do it," he said leisurely. It seemed his shoes got real interesting real fast. Kyle again latched onto his shoulders, more controlled and less substantial this time, though.

Stan felt diminutive in Kyle's distended eyes.

"You can do it," Kyle whispered. Stan undoubtedly could not hear hear him, but grasped what he meant. He concurred before nabbing Kyle's hands. They were torrid and sudoric, quavering actually. Which was surprising, Kyle didn't seem shaken at all now, if anything, this was one of the times _he_ was in control in this situation.

"I know you can." Kyle started to lean in before sparks came hurtling towards them. Not firework sparks, but impending ones. They parted quickly, both awestruck as the colors pelted between them.

"Enemies?" Stan asked. Kyle let out another breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Yes, we need to get Kenny, now."

They're hands expelled from each other, and the duo rigorously stepped inside the building.

All attacks desisted at that point in time, and the air seemed to stem, stand adjourned, time following soon after. Stan looked towards Kyle for any sort of stimulus, but the kid only dipped his head in affirmation. The daunting place had endorsed Kyle's mind, and he repelled at the stimulant to ebb his knees defenselessly.

"Help me!" a voice called lamentably, only yards away.

"Kenny!" Stan and Kyle whispered collectively.

Kyle had thought the cry had came from him.

At that breath the room lit up with colors of red, orange, even blue, all slanted towards the ridged corner of the domicile.

Stan flinched for a moment, but not a second later was breaking to the corner, using his powers to disperse the water from puddles and buffer himself.

"Stan!" Kyle called dependently, tripping over his own two feet as he coursed over to them. Like Hell he was going to stop him.

"Be careful!" Then, reticently, "I need you."

The flames were barely feet away from Stan as he belatedly attained Kenny. He fleetly retracted water to ice and grasped it aloft them, fire impending to char through it if Stan didn't have enough vitality to keep the sky of ice there.

Meanwhile, Kyle grunted in tension as he brought the rocks that were lolled around the edifice into the air, lancing them to the fire. All at once everything halted. The echo of crag beating to the ground could be heard until the ends of South Park. Stan's ice wilted and foundered, turning back to biting water and immersing the two boys.

Stan stood up, seethed but seemingly not caring as he gawked down at Kenny. He coughed, drips of water fleeting from his mouth as he gasped for breath.

Stan gave Kenny a buoy smirk when he saw the boy was at least okay and conscious, promising he'd be right back before darting to Kyle.

"He's not doing good, I need to get him somewhere where this"-he twirled and twisted his arms, looking humorously but amok around the building-"isn't present." Kyle nodded, thrusting Stan ahead of him.

"I'm on it, just get by Kenny, make sure nothing happen-"

He was cut off by a sudden sound of discharge. An explosion. The ground verging on Kenny burst. Kyle thought he had thought he'd seen a wisped thread of fire flitting down to Kenny, yet didn't know what to believe anymore.

"People who can make things blow up with their mind!" Stan bawled over the harmonies of dubiety. A second later an icebound defense was brood over the two, attaining them as they fled to Kenny.

Stan stopped in his tracks, the ice above him and Kyle fractured on the ground, splitting into a million stainless pieces when they approached Kenny.

 _No. No, this couldn't be happening, not to him, not to Kenny_.

Stan glimpsed upward to see his best friend, his companion, Kyle, peering down beyond him, gaze full of despondency and angst. At that moment he knew what he was seeing was honest, that it was true.

"Holy shit. O-oh my God, dude! Kenny . . . !"

Stan didn't even turn his head at Kyle's hectic words, but was held in the lifeless body that lay before of him.

"Oh my God," was all he could say. His voice was no more than a ragged whisper. He looked up at Kyle. The gleaming light had elapsed from the boy's stormy blue eyes, Kyle touched, and wasn't sure if it was ever going to come back. His bottom lip quavered as he fought to keep his tears at bay. Kyle let his knees unbuckle, and he rived to the ground bordering Stan, a finger interlocking with his as he fought to take rooting breaths conductive to calm himself. Stan glanced up at him, chin high, words no longer reluctant and cracked.

"They killed Kenny."

And then he fell into the boy's arms, guard no longer there, sobbing feebly into Kyle's shoulder, moaning words that no one could master.

Kyle sniffled, sustaining to comfort Stan with lies, lies that they both knew weren't true, but could be spoken without consequence. He blinked, and looked down at the kid's dinged, red and blue hat, his jaw clenching.

"You . . . bastards."

* * *

 **A/N: This actually came to be because I wanted a dramatic scene for Kenny's death, surprisingly not for style. But hey, I am getting more creative! This was a crossover between South Park and Legend of Korra/Avatar: the Last Airbender, if you didn't notice (sparky sparky boom man even made it in lol). Anyways, I apologize if there was any words misspelled or sentences that were blah or anything along the lines of that (I mentioned their eyes _way_ too much, and yet I don't even know what color eyes Kyle really has). I really enjoy feedback, but thanks just for making it all the way through the fanfic, and until next time (which should be a makorra one), bye!**


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